Terrorist Takedown
by dryskim
Summary: Follow the exploits of teams Falchion and Sledgehammer as they take on the insurrectionists. Helljumpers and Spartans versus Terrorists, Bombmakers, and overcrowed market places. Some explosions, some punching, and some shooting just so happen to be involved.


"She's gonna get away..."

"She's not gonna get away," Jesse snapped at the voice in his ear.

"I dunno, she's pretty far ahead," Liam muttered over the team's secure channel. Jesse could imagine the team's marksman sitting up in his roost with a big grin on his face, watching the foot chase down below.

Jesse's armored boots pounded against the pavement, his slung M45 Tactical shotgun smacking against his armor as he ran. He picked up the pace, surging forward like an armored brick on legs. Compared to Liam, who stood in at nearly six feet tall; Jesse was short, standing a mere five and a half feet. Where the marksman was relatively thin, Jesse was stocky. The escaping Insurrectionist he was chasing? Well, she had a rather long set of legs attached to a rather well-defined posterior (he had to admit) and because of it was able to keep a slight distance advantage on her pursuer.

"If they'd just let me shoot out her legs," Jesse spat, following his target as she deftly ducked and weaved through the market stalls - he on the other hand, simply bullied his way through the crowds, "I wouldn't have to chase her."

"And if you didn't have such short legs, you wouldn't have to chase her," Liam joked, "Hold-up, she's moving into the alley on your left. And...I think I've found our terrorists."

"You're sure?" Jesse asked, breaking off into the alley in pursuit.

"Well, last I checked your typical law abiding citizen didn't pack submachine guns."

"I really don't have time for this," Jesse grumbled, as two figures stepped out of the shadows with M7 Submachine guns leveled. Not having the time to properly defeat his foes in hand-to-hand combat, Jesse improvised. While still on the move, he grabbed the nearest hostile and over-hand tossed him into his comrade. The pair landed in a pile and Jesse dashed pass without missing a beat, "Where's she at now?"

There was a quiet moment as Liam sucked his teeth, "There we go - lost her for a second. She's going underground, it seems, you got a line of sight?"

"Yeah, she's heading into the subway," Jesse retorted, "Probably trying to lose me in the crowds."

"Well, thermal can't cut through twenty feet of solid concrete, so you're gonna be on your own down there," Liam cut in, "And try not to get yourself killed, alright?"

Jesse bounded down the subway tunnel stairs, brushing past startled civilians, "Aw, so you do care." He made a ninety degree turn, rushing down yet another identical white-tiled hallway. His boots pounded against the floor as he shouldered through the deadlocked crowds and made his way onto the platform, "Son of a-."

"What was that?"

She leaned against the door as it slid closed, heart pounding in her chest like a drum. She hadn't expected to be able to elude a Spartan, but there he was, standing on the platform - and here she was, safely aboard a waiting train. A slight grin formed on her lips as his helmeted gaze caught her own.

What he did next, wasn't exactly what she was expecting.

"You do realize how fast those trains go - right?"

"Yes, dad, I do. But it takes time to for them to get up to speed," Jesse snapped, he kicked himself into a full on, dead sprint. Sure, he wasn't the fastest out of his group - but he didn't have to be, "Gonna exploit that."

"I'm gonna make sure Lin and Oliver are on standby to take it at the next station, if necessary," Liam said, knowing full-well any attempt at logic would be stonewalled. Once Jesse set his mind to something, typically you couldn't talk him out of it.

Meanwhile, Jesse had made it to the last fourth of the platform and just as the train was about to disappear down the darkened tunnel leading to the next station - he jumped.

His gloved hands found a slight handhold and held fast, his momentum slamming his lower half into the side of the train, leaving a Spartan sized dent. Now he was clinging to the side of a rapidly accelerating subway car, while a likely armed Insurrectionist was inside with plenty of available hostages.

He really hadn't thought this one through.

The first round punched straight through the thin skin of the train car and slapped against his chest piece, the second follow-up round did the same, though it hit marginally higher than the first. Neither broke through his armor, which was a boon. Didn't help him still being stuck hanging off the side of the train though.

She pulled the trigger again, the heavy pistol bucking back into her hand. And yet, he was still clamoring around the edge of the train without her bullets seemingly having had any effect. She brought her sights down on his helmeted head, and squeezed off rounds as quickly as her fighter could manipulate the trigger. After eight pulls, the slide locked back.

The expression on her face was priceless, and it got even more priceless when he pried open the doors and stepped onto the car. She fumbled a magazine into her pistol as he sprung forward, her thumb hitting the slide release as she leveled her weapon at his faceplate.

Jesse batted her pistol out of his face, before bringing his free hand down on elbow joint. He could hear the crack of bone before he heard her shriek of pain, he brought his elbow back and smacked her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her lungs. The Spartan stooped down and picked up her dropped handgun, glanced around the car to confirm none of it's other occupants were harmed before striding over to battered Innie he'd chased halfway across town. He removed a set of plastic cuffs from his leg pouch and applied them to her wrists, careful to not cause anymore extra injury when dealing with her freshly broken arm. She cried out in pain a bit as he applied the cuffs, but aside from that she was impassive. As was the rest of the train car, which was painfully silent.

Jesse clicked his radio, "Subject is detained, but she's gonna need a medic."

"I'm not going to lie, I was expecting worse when you said she needed a medic," Lin said, standing on the landing as Jesse led the Insurrectionist out of the subway station. The Spartan stood looking down on him, an MA5K carbine hanging loosely across her chest by it's sling. Jesse knew for a fact that underneath the cold, unfeeling golden visor she was grinning from ear to ear.

"I can do subtle," Jesse joked, passing off his charge to a SWAT trooper, "I just can't do it well."

"As we can all see," Lin replied, her gaze trailing down from the point on his faceplate where his eyes would be down to his battered chest plate, "And I see you're still collecting battle scars."

"What can I say, she was feisty," Jesse said with a shrug glancing around at the mass of civilian onlookers all vying for a peek at the super soldiers, so far, Police were able to hold them back. Jesse was starting to ponder what he'd do in the Officers' position - when his initial thought was to request air support, he realized how unqualified he was for Police work. Thankfully, as a Spartan he typically wasn't sent to deal with the general public, "You think they realize it's impolite to stare?"

"Well, obviously we're robots," Lin said, glancing up as a AV-14 Attack VTOL sans missile pods and painted up in the colors of the New Haven Police Department, and with a rather distinctive individual clinging to the side with a sniper rifle in hand, "And here's Liam, and once Ollie gets back it'll be a real reunion."

The Hornet's skids hit the pavement and the Spartan stepped over the side, gave the pilot a two fingered salute before striding over to the other two Spartans congregating nearby. Liam gave Jesse a hearty slap on the shoulder armor, "Nice to see you in one piece - though I'm noticing a trend of you getting shot at least once per operation."

Jesse shook his head with a slight chuckle, "Yeah, believe me, I've noticed."

~UNSC Unyielding Force, May 6th, 2553 1000 hours~

"Damnit, son. This armor doesn't grow on trees, can you at least try not to get shot?"

"Look, Huey, it's not like I'm doing this on purpose-" Jesse started, pausing in his disassembly of his assault rifle. It's pieces scattered around him as he sat cross legged in 'The Cage', the loving term applied to the shipboard armory by most UNSC troops. The term was derived from the literal cage that sealed off a portion of the armory with the aim of limiting the theft of weapons or ammunition, it was uncommon, but it did happen.

"Goddamnit, kid, if I didn't like you so much I'd kick your ass from one end of this frigate to the other," the Master Gunnery Sergeant grunted, turning back to the battered chest piece lying in-front of him, "Sonofabitch, photoreactive panels are all screwed up - goddamn gel layer, too."

While the Master Guns let loose a string of explosive profanity, the Spartan went about the process of stripping, cleaning, and reassembling his MA5K carbine silently.

~UNSC Archimedes, May 9th, 2553 0621 hours~

Corporal Sam Kovic silently slotted a fresh magazine of 9.5mm into the buttstock of his BR55 Heavy Barrel Service Rifle (BR55 HBSR), his head nodded slightly along to the action. The Corporal was dressed in his fatigue pants, combat boots, a fresh tee-shirt, and the infamous silver visored helmet indicative of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. He continued to nod his head to the beat, laying his rifle to the side before moving onto checking over his armor suites.

His whole suit was covered in scratches and gashes of varying size and shape, some from rogue shrapnel, Needler shards, Spiker rounds glancing off the protective plating, plasma scorching from near misses, and damage from altercations at close range with Brutes. None of it had been an enjoyable experience per say, but thankfully that war was over. Officially, The Human-Covenant War was over. Officially, the Insurrection, after a slight hiatus during the war years, was back in full swing. The Corporal stripped down before starting the process of turning into the black armored bane of Insurrectionists nightmares. The ODST Battle Dress Uniform was not so much a uniform as an intricate assortment of plates, pouches, straps, and electronics. Compared to the armor of a standard UNSC Marine, it was a masterpiece of individual protection, compared to the armor utilized by Spartan super-soldiers, the ODST BDU looked positively ancient.

Kovic tightened the last strap on his chest piece, securing the armor to his torso just as Corporal Victor Powell poked his hardened features through the doorway, a goatee doting his chin. The squad's automatic rifleman, with arms to control the recoil and keep up accurate fire. When he spoke, his voice was a low baritone, "Sam, best get a move on if you want to make the briefing."

Kovic nodded, picking his Battle Rifle off the nearby bench before slinging it over his shoulder, "Any particulars?"

"Other than 'shoot the innies'?" Powell asked rhetorically.

Kovic nodded, keeping pace with the taller Corporal as they made their winding way through the hallways of the Archimedes. Most crewmen knew to get out of the way of a pair of Helljumpers, especially one with a Battle Rifle tucked under his arm conversing with his friend who had a Squad Automatic Weapon slung across his back like an assault rifle.

"Nah, it' just the same-old same-old, then," Powell replied,"I don't get why they don't just quit. I don't see what all this dying's worth, they should be happy, y'know? War's over, I'd think it'd be time to stop fighting and just be happy for once."

"I don't know, Vic. Can't really say it's within my pay grade to ask those questions," Kovic replied simply, ducking into the briefing room a moment short of Powell. The large Marine crossing the room before pausing to chat idly with the team's Anti-Tank Specialist, Private First Class Hamed Kabul. Kovic, not being the people-person that Powell was, quietly shifted to his own corner of the room, letting the thrashing of drums and guitars filter out of his helmet's internal speakers and serenade his ears.

It didn't take more than a few short moments before a familiar suit of urban camouflaged armor and combat gear settled into place next to the Corporal. Kovic offered his fellow ODST a simple aside glance, "Gretch."

"Sam," she responded just as curtly, adjusting slightly as she tried to find a more comfortable position that wasn't impeded by the armor in some way. The armor was thoroughly protective, but sitting could be a bit of a challenge on occasion, and after a long period of extended wear the BDU had a tendency to become rather uncomfortable. The red-haired grenadier ran a gloved hand through close-cropped hair, they sat in silence while her expression slowly soured. Kovic noticed the change, but didn't respond. Finally, the grenadier let out a huff, and broke the silence, "Seriously? This is it? Just gonna sit here and stare at the wall?"

"That was the plan," Kovic replied.

"Jackass."

"Dyke."

"Fuck you."

"Name the time and place," that comment earned him a knock on the side of his helmet.

-/-/-/-

~UNSC Unyielding Force May 9th, 2553 1051 hours~

"Alright, this is what we're looking at," Staff Sergeant Frank Palmer began, having sauntered into the briefing room only a few moments prior. He'd set his helmet and M7 Submachine gun aside and immediately brought up a holographic map of the team's target. The team of Helljumpers had clustered around the holo-tank, which was displaying a single city block in shades of light blue and cyan. Up to date logistics were being piped directly from the unmanned aerial vehicles already on station. There was a slight delay from what the UAV saw, and the holo-tank updating with the new data, but the technology still provided much more helpful than a stagnant image of the mission, "Insurrectionists have got a stockpile of explosives," the Sergeant stabbed a finger into the hologram, causing a wave of static, "Here," his finger now hovering over a rather unassuming grocery store.

"You're sure?" Kovic asked, leaning in closer to examine the tiny holographic store.

"The whole place is covered in traces of explosive residue," Palmer replied, "We've been keeping tabs on things for a while, they get regular deliveries of the explosives - along with the food. Seems the owner might be sympathetic to the Insurrectionists."

"Are we going to be bringing him in?" Kovic asked.

"Negative, CENTCOM wants us to just take out this shipment," Palmer said, "Neutralize any hostiles, and secure the cargo. They want us to send a message. Local Police will bring in a bomb squad to finish the job."

"Sounds like a short term plan," Powell cut in, massive hands gripping the edge of the holo-tank, "All we're going to do is slow them down for a bit while they find a new place to hide their bombs."

"I don't know, Vic. Here's to ONI getting their heads out of the mud and finding us their bomb maker," Palmer said, expanding the view of the grocery store by simply moving his index finger away from his thumb whilst holding his hand above the selected building. The grocery store expanded to take up a majority of the holo-tank, displaying an internal view of the store.

Powell glanced up from the holo-tank to Palmer's face, "What about civilians?" He gestured to the family milling around the fresh produce section, noting the young girl clinging to her father's hand.

"We don't have a lot of options, Vic. Shipments come with the noon delivery. But that being said, you check your targets. You check every target, and then you check 'em again. I don't want any screw-ups, we're here to protect the people, not terrorize them."

"So what's it called when we rush in there and start shooting?" Kovic asked, he might've been sarcastic but the Sergeant couldn't confirm. Usually his pointman had a habit of tacking a grin onto his bouts of sarcasm, this time, he'd kept a completely straight face.

Honestly, the Sergeant didn't have a real answer to that question.

~ Above the city of New Haven, May 9th, 2553 1158 hours~

Corporal Kovic clenched his hand, trying to force some blood into his frigid fingers. He, Staff Sergeant Palmer, Lance Corporal Rudenski, and Lance Corporal Chekhov were fastened to the side of one Hornet VTOL, while the rest of the team was mounted on the other. The UNSC in it's infinite wisdom (having only taken several years to realize the fact) decided that the Pelican dropship was not suitable for all situations, especially those undertaken by the Special Forces community. The solution was relatively simple, attach a simple bench seat to each side of an existing AV-14 Hornet. In practice, the troopers could get to their objectives much quicker and much more efficiently than if they used a different mode of transport, but they also were subjected to the elements, and more importantly, hostile fire. Thankfully for the ODSTs of Sledgehammer 1-1, the worst they had to deal with at the moment were cold hands.

Kovic's Hornet landed first, the Staff Sergeant dismounting a mere moment before the Corporal's boots hit the ground. Chekhov was instantly on his feet, ushering patrons out of the way, his distinctive accent cutting through the cold morning air. Meanwhile, Corporal Powell and his fireteam would be dropped at the rear of the store with the intention of halting the delivery. The Hornet's would stay on stand-by as support.

"Kovic, you're on point, go."

The Corporal stepped forward, suppressed M7 submachine gun up and ready as the automatic doors of the supermarket opened for his armored presence. The checkout area went instantly deadly silent as his black and gray frame appeared in the doorway, he inched ever deeper into the store while Rudenski and Chekhov covered his right and left flanks, respectively, "Uh...could we speak with the manager?"

As Corporal Powell's Hornet broke off from it's wingman he tightened his fingers around the folding foregrip of his M7. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that PFC. Kabul was doing the same, he couldn't see PFC. Decker because he was seated on the other side of the VTOL but he could only assume the young man was taking similar action. The Hornet came in over the loading dock, dock workers immediately turning at the sound. The Hornet landed without incident, the three Helljumpers immediately hopping off and surging forward to secure the delivery truck and it's cargo.

"Hands where we can see them!" Powell shouted, "Benny, get the truck."

"You got it," Decker replied, throwing open the rear doors to the truck. The ODST stepping into the refrigerated truck cautiously, Submachine Gun leading the way. Finding no hostiles, he glanced back to Powell before commencing his search for their shipment of explosives. The Helljumper produced a palm sized device from one of his innumerable pouches, and clicked a button on it's surface with his thumb. The device beeped once to indicate it was active before the ODST started his slow sweep.

Powell had always related the use of 'The Sniffer' as being akin to the use of a metal detector, except instead of sniffing out hidden metal it was being used to 'sniff' out explosive residue. In the past, dogs had been used for a similar purpose but for the Helljumpers, the portable sniffer device was a bit more practical than bringing a canine along.

Private First Class Benjamin Decker came sauntering out of the truck and joined his teammates on the loading dock, in his left hand he held a block of military-grade C-12 plastic explosives, "They've got a load of C-12, found it in with the fish, kind of clever."

"Never a good thing," Powell said gruffly, holding the workers at bay with broad sweeps of his suppressed submachine gun. So far, none had made a move during Decker's search, but now a few were starting to get antsy, "Anybody mind telling me who these explosives belong to?"

"Vic's found explosives," Palmer said abruptly over the team comm, Kovic pausing halfway in his breaching attempt, "That confirms our suspicions, keep it up, Sledgehammer."

The Corporal took a step back, and with a well-placed boot smashed in the door. The next room was seemingly the break room, judging by the well-worn table against the back wall and the off-white microwave sitting on the counter. A row of heavy lockers took up the left side of the room, and continued up to the door frame. Heavy boots advanced across the soft carpet, towards the suspicious shadow originating from the couch in the center of the small room. Kovic looped around it's side, weapon up and ready just in case. Acknowledging his target, he lowered his weapon slightly and stepped forward ever so slightly, "Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to get up."

Dressed in a light blue dress shirt and khaki slacks, (though she rounded out her appearance with a set of sneakers) she uncurled herself, and with some hesitation stood up. She had soft features, large eyes, and a small nose. Her eyes trailed down to his Submachine gun, "You're not gonna shoot me, are you?"

Kovic shook his head, "Not if I don't have to, but I am going to have to cuff you," he produced his zip cuffs with his left hand, "Standard Operating Procedure-"

She kicked him in the groin.

"-okay, now you're really not helping yourself," he grunted, snatching her up by the arm with a heavy grip. Her other attempts at resistance were futile at best, especially considering he was loaded up with blast-grade armor.

"Stop it, that hurts!"

He forced her to the carpet, an armored knee driven into her back to hold her in place while he wrestled her arms into place, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

He could still hear her protests as he moved on.

"They don't seem to be in the talking mood," Decker said matter-of-factly.

"Nope, they don't," Powell replied.

Kabul said nothing, which knowing him, wasn't surprising.

~ New Haven, May 9th, 2553 1215 hours~

"Well, that was less than exciting," Ben grumbled, the ODST now helmetless and seated on the back of a SWAT truck with a styrofoam cup of coffee in hand, "Didn't even get to fire a shot."

"That's how I prefer it," Vic replied, the large ODST giving his friend a once-over. Benjamin Decker was a average sized trooper with dark, boyish features, and as the youngest out of Sledgehammer his desire for excitement exceeded that of the veterans. Initially, because of his lack of service during the Human-Covenant War he'd been shunned by the other members of the unit, so Powell had taken it upon himself to take the young Marine under his wing.

"Yeah, well, not all of us wanted to be a preacher when we grew up," Ben chided.

"Been too long since we've had a cakewalk," Kovic added his two cents, shifting his cup in his hands, "Didn't really need us, regular SWAT could have dealt with this just as well," he took a drink from his coffee, "At least their coffee's good."

"I guess that's one small consolation," Vic said.

~ New Haven, May 9th, 2553 2108 hours~

"We have confirmation on our bomb maker, Falchion. He goes by Mollaka, shouldn't be hard to find. We need him alive, his connections higher up the food chain are too important to waste, how copy?"

"Falchion copies all, Arclight," Lin said tersely, the Spartan glancing around the open-air compartment she occupied with the rest of her team. There was the quiet drone of the Falcon's rotors, but her helmet dampened most of the sound, allowing her to maintain conversation with their handler for this mission, "Out."

Liam had just finished slotting a magazine into the stock of his M392 Designated Marksman Rifle when she terminated her link to ONI. He glanced up from his rifle, meeting her gaze. After a brief moment he shook his head, "Can't believe ONI's holding our hand on this one."

"You're really suprised by this?" she asked, "I figured you'd know better by now."

"I do, it's just - odd, that they're taking so much interest in one bomb making nutjob," Liam replied, laying his freshly loaded rifle across his armored lap, "You ever wonder if maybe they're not telling us something?"

"Yeah, all the time. Comes with the territory," she said, gazing over his left shoulder guard at the darkening skyline below, "I think this is your stop, Rifleman."

"Guess it is," The Spartan rose from his seat, though he had to stoop to keep his head from hitting the ceiling of the craft. He braced himself against the side of the Falcon before pushing off, he fell for a few short moments and landed elegantly for a six foot tall soldier in nearly a ton of combat armor. He gave her a quick two-fingered salute, which she returned, and then the sniper disappeared into the darkness to set up his roost.

The Falcon itself returned to it's course, hovering a dozen feet above the ground, the Spartans deploying from the open bay. Lin was the first to hit the ground, boots hitting the cold concrete just before her team. Jesse hit the ground next, snapping up his MA5K the instant he was on terra firma. And lastly, came Oliver, who was loaded out with a plethora of weaponry and equipment that rattled against his olive drab armor as he shifted into position.

Oliver was the final member of Falchion, and also served as the team's specialist. While Jesse was capable of doing neigh all infantry related tasks, Oliver had found his calling in handling high explosives and SPNKr launchers. For this operation, he'd be acting as the team's breacher.

With this in mind, his loadout was considerably heavier than either Lin's or Jesse's - both of which carried a MA5K carbine and a M6G handgun, along with several flash grenades - Oliver carrying alongside his carbine and handgun, a cut-down M90A shotgun. He also carried a handful of breaching charges and flash grenades, along with a single block of C-12, 'just in case'.

Her team intact and in position, Lin flashed the Falcon pilot an acknowledgment light and not long after the helicopter disappeared into the night sky. With a quick hand gesture the team rallied on her six and started their quick trek across the cold, barren wharf.

High above in his perch, Liam adjusted slightly, shifting his M932 Designated Marksman Rifle in his hands as he scanned ahead of the team with his scope. Compared to the usual scope utilized with the M932 this one was a bit larger and more bulky, typically a M932 DMR was issued with a one to three times optical sight. In this case, Liam had replaced it with a for a thermal optic with a fixed six times zoom.

"You're clear to the target building, thermal's showing up clean," he said quietly.

Lin's voice cut through the silence, "What's the Wombat showing?"

"The drone's showing the same as before. Bunch of bad guys milling around in a warehouse, no change there," Liam answered. The drone's thermal imaging showing up in the upper right corner of his helmet display, a dozen or so white specks milling around based on the feed, "Looks like about a dozen hostiles."

"Aw, just a dozen? Why couldn't this at least be a challenge?" Jesse huffed through the TEAMCOM, "At this rate it's not even worth using Spartans."

Liam rolled his eyes, typical Jesse. Lin audibly sighed, silently gesturing for the team to take up positions for a breach. The Spartans stacked up into formation like a well-oiled machine, though with six years of combat training under their belts that much was a given. Jesse and Lin setting up on either side of the door, while Oliver took his position in front of it, he gave Lin an aside glance.

"Do it."

Oliver was able to knock the door off it's hinges with one kick, considering the Spartan was the strongest out of Falchion, that much was a given. The Spartan barreled through the doorway, whipping his MA5K up - assured that his two comrades would follow close behind and cover his blind spots.

Meanwhile, every insurrectionist in the room either dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball - or dropped their bomb making gear and grabbed their guns. The first rounds pinged off Oliver's armor as he brought his rifle to bare, though he stayed his trigger finger for a moment. It took less than a second, his mind confirming the man with the pistol was not in-fact, Mollaka, and Oliver retaliated with deadly accurate fire from his carbine, "Target down, engaging."

"Roger, check your targets though. We need him alive," Lin said cooly, dropping to a knee with her own MA5K carbine, dropping a pair of would-be attackers with a short burst of automatic fire, "That means don't shoot him, Jesse."

"Yes, mother," Jesse grunted.

The Spartans pressed deeper into the warehouse, Jesse staying behind to apprehend the surrendered innies while Lin and Oliver kept pushing towards their bomb maker. The Spartans paused to reload, a total of eight dead terrorists littering the floor and another three under Jesse's watchful eye. No sign of Mollaka.

"He's not here," Oliver muttered, rolling over and checking another corpse.

"Falchion, this is Arclight. We've got confirmation of a vehicle leaving the warehouse-"

"That would have been valuable information two minutes ago, Arclight," Lin grunted.

"If you'd done your job, we'd already have Mollaka in custody. Now move it before we lose him for good," Arclight finished, his voice increasing subtly in volume, "His vehicle should be marked on your HUD, now get moving. Out."

"Falchion copies all," Lin muttered, gesturing for Oliver and Jesse to form up on her.

"What a douche," Jesse grunted, giving his prisoners one last visored glare. There'd be a team to pick them up for interrogation later, unless they somehow escaped their bonds and ran off. Which Arclight would immediately blame on the Spartans, somehow. Rushing back across the wharf took nowhere near as long as the first time, the team's Falcon settling down with Liam already settled into his seat. The remainder of Falchion quickly boarding and taking their positions.

"Alright, change of plans. We've got new instructions," Lin said, "Mollaka has managed to slip through our grasp, he's got transport-"

Jesse nudged Liam's shoulder, "Yeah, how'd you manage to miss that?"

"His vehicle was on the other side of the warehouse," Liam grunted, "I didn't see you doing anything to stop him."

"I was babysitting prisoners, Deadeye."

"And I was covering you-"

"Yeah, well-"

"Guys!" Lin snapped, smacking Jesse on the side of the helmet followed by Liam, "Shut up! Now as I was saying...if Mollaka manages to get across the river into the business district, we'll probably lose him. Too many people, too many places to hide. We've got to stop him before that, understood?"

"Uh-huh," Jesse grunted, arms folded across his chest. Oliver gave a short nod and Liam gave no real indication he was paying attention, instead suddenly engrossed by the selector switch on the side of his DMR.

Lin leaned back in her seat to concentrate on the patterns of the metal on the ceiling of their Falcon, the rest of the ride went by in silence. The Falcon taking a path low over the industrial district trailing the beacon that identified Mollaka's position, a rather unassuming white van making it's way through traffic down below. The van eventually bullied it's way onto the bridge into the business district, making good speed as the Falcon followed over the river.

Liam checked his rifle.

"Get ready," Lin's voice wafted over the COM.

Liam shouldered his DMR, pressing the buttstock firmly into his shoulder. He brought the scope up, zooming in on his target as his finger looped around the trigger. He took a breath, let it out, took a breath, let it out-

-and squeezed the trigger.

The 7.62x51mm round punching through the front wheel of the van without much effort, causing the vehicle to pull to one side before slamming into bus driving in the adjacent lane.

Liam pulled his head up from the stock of his DMR, "Target hit."

"I've got eyes on Mollaka," Jesse grunted, "He's moving. Looks hurt though."

"Great," Lin grumbled, "Pilot, get us do there."

"Roger that, get ready Falchion."

Mollaka considered himself to be a man in decent shape, being in his early thirties he could be considered in the prime of his life, but given his pursuers his chances of escape were rapidly dwindling.

Spartans.

Spartans.

It had to be Spartans.

He was able to kick the door of his van open, clutching his injured arm as he stumbled out onto the roadway. A couple concerned motorists were already advancing on the crash, trying to make themselves useful for once in their pointless lives, Mollaka forcefully shoved them away and continued limping across the bridge. The Falcon helicopter circling overhead, slowing for a landing. Mollaka increased the pace of his limping, the sharp burning in his leg indicating he was still making progress, he took a moment to shoot a glance over his shoulder as he felt around inside his sweatshirt for his handgun.

"You guys know what to do," Lin said, the three remaining Spartans. dropping into position behind her. The panic only seemed to increase with the introduction of four heavily armed military commandos dropping onto the bridge deck, "I'll deal with Mollaka."

"When you catch up to him, punch him in the face, would ya?" Jesse asked, the Spartan settling down next to the crashed van, giving Oliver the distinguished task of dispelling 'stupid tourists' before turning back to the crisis at hand, "This thing's probably rigged, get 'em a ways back."

"Aye aye," came Oliver's quick reply, a broad shouldered Spartan wading into the crowds jabbing at resistant individuals with the stock of his MA5K. Liam was on the other side of the roadway, quickly ushering civilians off the bus. Satisfied the situation was well under hand, Lin took off at a run after Mollaka. Considering his injured state, she would be able to easily catch up to him, even with the relatively large head start he had.

"Shit," Jesse swore.

"What is it, Jesse?" Lin grunted, dodging traffic as she continued after Mollaka, nearly getting sideswiped into the process, "This better be important."

"Eh, nothing too important," Jesse muttered, the sounds of him fiddling with something being picked up by his microphone, "Just an armed bomb and way too many civilians in the blast radius."

Lin's heart skipped a beat, "Can you disarm it?"

"I'm working on it right now," Jesse responded, "This thing's a little more complex than I'm used to, I'm being careful."

"That's a first," Lin said.

"Shit. How's this armor rated towards explosives?" he said as her blood turned to ice in her veins.

"What'd you do now?" Lin snapped back.

"Might have nicked the wrong wire by accident, or what looked like the right wire was actually the trigger to speed the timer up...honestly, I'm doing this by the seat of my pants at this point."

"That's not good-"

"I know, I know. Unless you've got a better idea-"

His line was enveloped in static, the resounding sound of the explosion reaching her ears a half-second later. Her armored boots skidded to a stop on the pavement as she executed a rapid three-hundred-and sixty degree turn, a thick plume of black smoke marking where Mollaka's van had been only moments prior. Jesse's IFF tag was visible, the concussive force from the blast having knocked him across the bridge deck. Oliver's IFF tag was bobbing, indicating the Spartan was rushing to his comrades' aid. Lin was able to make one stride in Jesse's direction before Arclight's ever present voice filtered into her ear.

"Falchion One, Mollaka cannot be allowed to escape - continue pursuit."

"One of my team is down-"

"Mollaka takes priority, Falchion One. Capture Mollaka, he's your number one priority right now."

"Roger that," Lin growled, turning away from Jesse once more. The Spartan disengaged the safety on her carbine, before shouldering the weapon and firing off a short burst. Mollaka flopped to the roadway.

"Falchion One, you were not cleared to engage Mol-"

The Spartan pried her helmet off and tossed it aside, stalking down the roadway towards Mollaka's prone form. The bombmaker was squirming, no doubt due to a bullet through his leg.

His gaze met hers, and just as rapidly as their eyes met - her boot found purchase on his shattered knee. He screamed out in pain, before his features hardened once more. The Spartan grabbed him by the shoulders and rolled him facedown on the pavement, making sure the left side of his face was rubbing the rough asphalt. Zip cuffs in place, she hauled him to his feet and gave him a rough shove towards the Pelican dropship now hovering over the roadway, a squad of ODSTs in black armor disembarking to retrieve the package.

"We'll take him off your hands, Spartan," the lead Shock Trooper said, a small emblem on his chest piece indicating he was a Sergeant. The bold text along the front of his ballistic gear read, Palmer.

She offered nothing more than a nod.


End file.
